


you've been a-hauntin' my dreams

by crownedcarl



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst and Feels, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Halloween, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Canon, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: “If you were the bravest person in the whole world, Dal, just for a minute, what would you do?”He thinks Dally would probably steal a car or rob a bank, but Johnny likes to think that Dally wouldn’t be that stupid. If he goes away again, Johnny’s sure he’s going to come back meaner, and Dally’s already plenty mean when other people are around. When it's just them, Johnny gets the Dally that nobody else sees. He gets the real one.“You first.”
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Comments: 16
Kudos: 88





	you've been a-hauntin' my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, baby! I recently finished reading the novel and wanted to write something light-hearted for these two tragic, broken boys, which, some three thousand words later, produced this unbearably self-indulgent fic. The title is from the song Spooky by Dusty Springfield. I'd really love to hear your thoughts on my characterization of Dallas and Johnny, but all feedback is welcome! I hope you enjoy this. ✿

It’s eight P.M on Halloween night and Johnny’s got nowhere to be, nothing to do and no-one to see.

He hasn’t so much as lifted a finger towards making an effort for the holiday, still wearing his old jean jacket over a t-shirt that’s a little holey in the back. Hell, Johnny had honestly forgotten all about it getting closer and closer to Halloween ‘til he saw the decorations start popping up in the store a couple of days ago, costumes turning up on clearance racks...

But the thing is, he’s not a kid anymore. What reason does he have to dress up and play pretend?

Johnny does that plenty without needing a costume.

While he warms his hands together, Johnny considers his options for the night. He knows that if he trudged over to the Curtis house, he’d find a hot meal waiting for him and a candy bar for dessert, but Johnny’s intruded enough this week, so instead, he chooses to sit on a bench in the park and starts waiting for the night to be over, his thoughts drifting to faraway places. Johnny's so caught up in his thoughts, in fact, that the world around him stops mattering as much as it should.

“Hey.”

Johnny startles, realizing too late that a long shadow has fallen across him, that someone is speaking right in his ear, voice husky and rough. When he turns his head that last inch, Johnny finds himself face to face with Frankenstein’s monster, who rasps “Boo.”

Johnny squeaks thinly, toppling off the bench in a heap of stiff limbs. Blinking up, he finally recognizes the laughter from behind the mask, then spits “Jesus, Dal, you wanna give me a heart attack or somethin’?” in a voice that's equal parts indignant and exasperated.

Dally pushes the mask up until his face is visible, shrugging as he lets the plastic cover his forehead, leaving a long shadow across Dally’s nose. There's mirth dancing in Dally's eyes, though, despite the genuine "Sorry," he offers as he grabs Johnny’s hand and tugs him upright, sliding himself down on the bench like it’s not covered in a fine layer of frost as Dally makes himself comfortable.

“Lifted the mask off some kid,” Dally explains, “Figured I might as well get some use out of it.”

“Yeah,” Johnny mutters, “Like terrorizing me,” but he grins back at Dally, oddly cheered by the prank. He’s watching kids jog to and fro, begging for candies and weighing eggs in their palms in the event that they're denied, and Johnny realizes that he can’t remember if he ever went trick or treating, suddenly, his throat constricting something awful. His memory's got a lot of holes in it. A lot of deliberate ones, too.

“What’re you supposed to be, anyway?” Dally asks, all casual and playfully mocking, tearing Johnny out of his thoughts. Dally sizes Johnny up before nodding at the little kids running down the street, spotting a ghost, a witch and Elvis. “Dollar store hood?”

Johnny mulls Dally’s question over, glad for his upturned collar, glad that it keeps the chill out and hides his smile when he ducks his head. He's wearing his usual, but that doesn't mean Johnny can't claim otherwise.

“What, me? I’m the badass Dallas Winston-”

Dally rolls his eyes, predictably. He scoffs, but he doesn’t smack Johnny when he pantomimes Dally’s usual cold expression, how his eyebrows come together in a stern frown, then gets to rambling “I’m Dallas Winston and y’all better be afraid, y’hear? I’ll beat the tar out of you, your kids and your dog too-”

It’s hard to hear Dally’s muffled laugh, but Johnny catches him in the act, seeing Dally try to smother a smile around his cigarette. “Hilarious,” he deadpans, jostling their shoulders together. “In that case, I’m Johnny Cade.”

The joke feels a lot less funny when it’s turned on him. He winces, expecting Dally to start in on him one way or another, but Dally just keeps smoking, like he’s tired of the bit already.

“What, not gonna commit?”

“Who says I’m not?” Dally asks, smiling in that serene way of his, “I’m being Johnny Cade right now. Sitting with Dallas Winston, actually. That’s what Johnny Cade does, isn’t it? At least some of the time.”

Warmth bubbles in Johnny’s stomach. “Sure, yeah,” he whispers, “Y’think the real Dallas Winston could take me somewhere?”

“Where’d you wanna go?”

“Out of the cold,” Johnny asserts, putting up the pretense of a fight when Dally tugs him closer in a loose sideways hug, their hips bumping as they start down the street, “Jus’ wanna get warm, man.”

In the car, Dally lets him pick the music. Once they’ve reached Dally’s place, though, he’s batting Johnny’s hands away from the record collection with a firm “No fuckin’ way, man,” as he sees Johnny’s fingers lingering on Bob Dylan, “I’m over it. Trust me, you’ll like this better anyway…”

Johnny slumps down on the couch while Dally fiddles with the record, keeping himself entertained by glancing around the apartment, trying to pinpoint what’s changed since the last time he was here. It’s cleaner, Johnny eventually deduces. Dally’s done a bang-up job keeping it tidy, and maybe he's got some more books up on his shelves, too, which makes the apartment feel...homely, in a way.

Of course, Johnny’s got no real idea what a real home looks like on the other side of town. For all he knows, this could be a dump to a Soc. Probably is, too, which makes Johnny more determined to like it. He watches Dally set to getting the music going, trying to read the cover from across the room.

The song that Dally puts on is unfamiliar, though. “Hey, who is that, anyway?” Johnny asks, weaving his way around the couch to open up the window, letting the fresh air cool him down as he plays with his lighter, flicking it on and off.

“Weren’t you complaining about being cold a minute ago?”

“Answer the question,” Johnny mumbles, lighting a cigarette, perching himself on the windowsill while Dally fumbles to shrug off his jacket. Sure, he was cold then, but a cracked window ain't that bad.

“The Stones, Johnnycake. The Rolling Stones.”

After a moment of intent listening, Johnny nods. “I like ‘em.”

“Told you so.”

At Pony’s house, it’s either the radio or the TV and the radio sure doesn’t play anything Johnny likes - mostly pop, or folk music, but Dally’s got a stack of rock’n’roll on his shelves, which means he’s the only reason Johnny knows about these new bands that he can't get his hands on anywhere else.

At Johnny’s house, nobody really listens to music. Dally’s always got something going, long as he’s awake, and he usually doesn't complain too much when Johnny comes over just to help himself to the record player.

“Thanks, Dally,” Johnny eventually offers, knowing he lucked out tonight, “I don’t gotta stay all night or anything…”

“Nah, you don’t. But you can, if you want to.”

Johnny bets Dally can tell exactly how grateful his sharp gasp is, but Dally’s nice about it, gentlemanly, almost. He just acts like he didn’t hear a damn thing, shuffling over to Johnny and stealing his cigarette, plucking it out from between Johnny’s lips.

He’s sure Dally has better things to do than stay cooped up, 'cause holidays mean making a lot of bank when it comes to the races, but Dally seems happy to hang out right here, passing Johnny back his cigarette with a little smile, chewing on his lower lip while Johnny inhales deeply. Dally's tossed his monster mask to the floor, but Johnny kicks at the green-gray face and wonders, then gives voice to his questions.

“You ever dress up like that, Dal? I mean, properly, for Halloween?”

Dally’s eyebrows shoot up. He bursts out laughing. “Johnnycake, I was in jail by the time I was ten. What do you think?”

“I mean, sure,” Johnny stutters, “But you had nine years ‘fore that.”

He’s not really expecting Dally to answer. It startles Johnny when Dally actually seems to consider the question, his smile going lopsided.

“Once, maybe,” Dally snorts, “Gee, what was I...seven? Hardly remember. Well, anyways, it was for a dumbass school thing. Take a guess what I wore, won’t you?”

Johnny racks his brain, blurting “Cowboy?” ‘cause it’s the first mental image that makes sense. He can clearly imagine Dally as an outlaw, even back then, a kid forced to play dress-up against his will.

“Nah. Shit, I got stuck bein’ a _bee_. A bee, Johnny. Lousy wings and stupid stinger included. Looked a mess.”

Dally pauses, anticipating laughter. It flows out of Johnny in peals, and in the end he’s laughing so hard that someone from the apartment below yells “Shut the hell up!” out their window before Johnny can get himself under control, his lungs aching from the exertion.

“Yuck it up,” Dally sighs, but he’s still got a secretive, pleased smile playing on his lips despite his put-upon tone. “That was the first and last time, I tell you.”

“Well,” Johnny tries, “If you had to dress up - nah, if you could dress up as anything you wanted? What would you pick?”

Dally pats Johnny’s knee, teeth digging into his lower lip. He looks a little nervous, Johnny thinks, but maybe that’s just ‘cause Johnny’s asking a lot of questions tonight.

“I don’t wanna be anyone or anything else,” Dally tells him with finality, “Guess I’d settle for being a better me, Johnny.”

“How come?” Johnny asks, cocking his head curiously, brushing his bangs away from his eyes, “I like you just fine, now. The boys do, too.”

Dally drapes an arm around Johnny’s shoulders, fingers squeezing Johnny’s arm. “I know you do. It's just that it wouldn’t hurt to be…”

Trailing off, Dally shakes his head. “Be what?” Johnny pushes, “Dally. You can talk to me.”

Mumbling, Dally seems to curse quietly to himself before he blurts “Hell, I wouldn’t mind being a bit braver, is all. Brave never hurt anybody.”

“Aw, Dal. You’re real brave. Nothing ever scares you.”

“Sure, but I’m a coward, too, Johnnycake. You’re looking right at a coward, did you know that?”

He’s never really seen Dally like this, all down in the dumps, even though Dally’s forcing cheer into his voice, like Johnny’s too fragile to talk to in a way that’s real. For a second, it pisses Johnny off, being treated like he’s delicate.

The next second, he just feels bad. Dally’s got no one to open up to, does he?

“Tell me,” Johnny implores, standing up straight, leaving Dally to sit hunched over by the windowsill, “If you were the bravest person in the whole world, Dal, just for a minute, what would you do?”

He thinks Dally would probably steal a car or rob a bank, but Johnny likes to think that Dally wouldn’t be that stupid. If he goes away again, Johnny’s sure he’s going to come back meaner, and Dally’s already plenty mean when other people are around. When it's just them, Johnny gets the Dally that nobody else sees. He gets the real one.

“You first.”

Johnny sighs, then shrugs. “I’d walk away from my folks, man. Pack up and leave and never once look back.”

Dally squeezes his eyes shut and exhales, giving Johnny an apologetic little glance that Johnny accepts with a nod. “I’d ruin my entire life, Johnny. I’d do something real stupid. I'd destroy everything.”

“What? Hell, Dally, what do you mean?”

Dally runs a hand through his hair, messing it up, looking anywhere but directly at Johnny. It feels like he’s about to overstep a boundary, or something, when Dally starts looking _scared._

Johnny’s never seen him scared, before.

“I’d kiss you.”

Dally spits the words so quick, Johnny doesn’t really piece it together all at once. He's got to backtrack, try to unstick the words from each other. Eventually, he gets there, mouth dropping open.

“Huh?” he asks, eyes going huge with shock when Dally, painfully slowly, once again grits out “I’d kiss you, Johnnycake, christ. Keep looking at me like that and you can get the hell out-”

Aw, now he’s done it. Johnny’s pissed Dally off without realizing it, staring at the spots of color in Dally's cheeks, how he's worked himself into breathing heavily already.

Dally makes like he’s about to shoot to his feet and go storming off, like he’s so damn mad he’s got to go work that anger out on someone - anyone else - but Johnny rushes to put his hands on Dally’s shoulders and briskly forces him to sit back down, hardly registering Dally’s sharp glare.

“Shut up,” Johnny snaps, his hands squeezing Dally’s shoulders harder. He worries, for a moment, that he’ll accidentally shove Dally right out the half-open window, which leads to him carefully easing his grip until Dally gets the idea and stops squirming in the hold. “Geez, Dal, you couldn’t let me get a word in ‘fore you start talking for me?”

Standing between Dally’s spread legs, hands balancing above Dally’s knees, Johnny suddenly feels awful shy, but he’s determined to see this through. Even if Dally’s looking murderous, like Johnny’s gone and done something terrible to him. He might've, for all that he knows. “Could you look at me?”

Dally obeys, but he don’t look too happy about it. “Dal,” Johnny sighs, his face flaming, “Could you be brave, right now? For a little while. Be the bravest person on the planet, if you could.”

After a beat, where Dally’s mouth drops open in shock, Johnny mumbles “For me?”

If Dally can be brave and Johnny can be kind, then maybe tonight doesn't end up being a total bust. It's one thing to seek Dally's eyes out across a crowded room and know, deep down in his belly, that there's something there. It's another one entirely to hear Dally _say_ it.

The pleasant surprises don't end there, either, because having Dally under him, shorter than Johnny for once, Dally having to glance up in order to search out Johnny’s eyes...? Well, it just about sends sparks up Johnny’s spine, his eyes flitting to Dally’s mouth, which has been shocked into softness. For a second, Johnny debates just throwing caution to the wind and surging down - but this is Dally’s moment, Johnny reminds himself.

This is his time to make a choice.

“God, Johnny…”

Dally chooses to be brave. Johnny moans, low in his throat, when Dally frames his face with clumsy hands, a thumb sweeping across Johnny’s bruised cheekbone. He can hear Dally’s ragged breath, can feel the shiver that travels up Dally’s body where they’re touching, and Johnny smiles, real wide, against Dally’s mouth.

He ain’t ever felt that way, before. Like someone plummeting to earth after their parachute didn’t open, like a freedom Johnny’s never known ‘til now, like whatever is going to happen might not be _right,_ necessarily, but it'll be inevitable and there will have been no use in fighting it. He's glad for the end result, at least.

“Dally,” he breathes, pushing his hands up Dally’s body, placing one in the middle of Dally’s chest, the other stroking through Dally’s hair, “Come here, man. You’ll fall to your death.”

It makes Dally laugh incredulously, but he obeys and scoots on away from the window, rising to his full height, still looking tense around the mouth despite Johnny’s earnest look, the one that promises that he won’t make fun of Dally for wanting.

The thing that gets to Johnny, though, is the fact that Dally’s ducking his head, biting his lower lip, asking “What now?” like he’d rather leave the decisions entirely up to Johnny, just this once.

It’s kind of staggering, being entrusted with Dallas Winston and his shaky hands. “Now…” Johnny fumbles, grabbing Dally gently by the collar, “Now, uh, we go sit on that couch-”

He drags Dally along, but neither one of them complains when they end up sprawling in a heap of limbs across the couch, the two of them holding their breath in unison when Dally lands on top of Johnny, knees once again spread out on either side of Johnny’s hips. He looks flustered. Not embarrassed, exactly, but…shy.

Johnny, on the other hand, is sure he’s got stars in his eyes. Visible ones, his eagerness written plainly across his face.

“Down here,” he prompts, grinning at Dally, placing a finger slowly to his own lips and tapping once, then twice. “Dal, kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it. Like you did before.”

It’s like he’s said the magic word, ‘cause Dally dips down in a frenzy, hands flying to cup Johnny’s cheeks as his mouth finds Johnny’s, an insistent press of lips that gets Johnny’s breath catching, pleasantly surprised at the intensity. He’d imagined Dally like a wild animal in bed, in all things romantic. Turns out, he can be real sweet when he wants to be, even if he seems a little lost, a little overwhelmed.

Vulnerable, Johnny thinks. That’s what Dally reminds him of, right now. Someone who's never been vulnerable, before.

“You can’t want this,” Dally suddenly says, tearing himself from Johnny’s mouth, his eyes two dark pools in a startled face, mouth all pinched. “Oh, shit, Johnny-”

“You gotta listen to me,” Johnny sighs, snagging Dally’s shirt in one hand to keep him from leaping off the couch and running away, “Dally, I ain’t a kid. I ain’t fragile. I know what I want and you, you’re impossible, you know that? But I want you to stay. Please?”

He watches Dally’s turmoil turn to unrest before it slowly settles, until there’s just a strange resignation to his smile, like he knows it ain't worth fighting with Johnny about it, 'cause Johnny will get the last word, anyway.

“Johnny,” Dally whispers, “I ruin everything I touch.”

“You touch me plenty,” Johnny counters. “You're touching me right now, dummy, and I’m fine.”

He knows damn well what Dally meant. Johnny still holds his ground, heart galloping in his chest, keeping his eyes gentle when Dally looks right at him.

It cracks Dally that one last bit. He starts laughing until it sounds more like a howl, but when he’s winding down, Dally relaxes and folds over Johnny’s body like he’s making himself right at home, lips to Johnny’s throat. “Yeah. You’re fine.”

“Would be better if you’d come back here,” Johnny sighs, shooting Dally a smile when he finally deigns to sit up properly. Johnny takes the opportunity to fling himself upright, too, while a hand slips up the back of Dally’s shirt, then flattens out across Dally’s spine.

It makes Dally shiver again. “You sensitive?” Johnny asks, not confident but _sure_ when he unbuttons Dally’s shirt halfway, placing a kiss where Dally’s breastbone protrudes slightly - and wouldn’t you know it, Dally shivers then, too. _“Oh.”_

“Yeah, yeah, shut your trap,” Dally grouches, except he’s tilting his head back, flushed all over, chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to keep himself from blurting something stupid. “Jesus, Johnny, ain’t you a virgin?”

Unimpressed, Johnny asks “Ain’t you experienced?” and Dally shuts his mouth with a huff of a laugh, then groans “Well, shit, Johnny, it’s different when it’s you.”

Warmth floods Johnny from all over. He’s the one shivering now, settling one hand in the small of Dally’s back, his mouth on Dally’s jaw, moving across the smooth skin to leave curious, exploratory kisses. He knows what Dally means, what he’s trying to say without using the words.

Outside, he can hear a gaggle of kids running rampant, little girls shrieking and buckets of candy rattling and the noise of it bouncing between the buildings, an echo that never quite disappears. Dally's record has been playing for a while, now, but Johnny's only now tuning in, catching the tail-end of Jagger singing _I don't want 'cause I'm sad and blue_...

“Lotta freaks out tonight,” Johnny mumbles, letting the music drown out the racket, “Hey, Dally. I ought to stay. Keep you safe, you know. Can’t have a ghost getting in here and offing you.”

“Hey, Johnny,” Dally laughs, right up against Johnny’s mouth, in fact, ‘cause Johnny’s been so busy staring at Dally’s flat stomach that he forgot to keep track of his head, “I reckon you’re right. Ghost-prone neighborhood, you know...you should keep watch. Make sure nothing hurls me out that window to my untimely death-”

“Not on my watch,” Johnny agrees, nosing his way up Dally’s throat, eyes softening when he finds himself eye to eye with Dally, feeling like his heart could burst wide open with butterflies when Dally looks at Johnny with more desperation than he’s ever seen, “I’ll keep you safe. Don’t you worry.”

It feels pretty good, having Dally kiss him, even if he tricks Johnny into kissing that ugly Frankenstein mask once, a little while later, while Johnny's blissed out and his eyes are closed, but Dally takes the smack to his head with good humor and grace, all things considered.

The next time he kisses Johnny, he does it properly and Johnny twists his fingers in the bottom of Dally’s shirt, tugging him closer, dragging Dally flush against him, until they’re chest to chest, hip to hip, groin to groin, Dally’s heart thundering against Johnny’s chest through the thin layers of their shirts.

“Happy Halloween,” Johnny whispers.

“Happy Halloween, Johnnycake,” Dally murmurs, his eyes sparkling, huffing breathless laughter against Johnny’s cheek when he utters a decisive “I think this is the best one, yet.”


End file.
